A Different Sort of Magic
by DinoDina
Summary: But Percy wasn't just staring because Oliver Wood had a captivating smile and was good on a broom. He was staring because Wood was a Squib. Percy/Oliver oneshot written for LSS on HPFC.


**Written for Last Ship Sailing Competition II on HPFC  
** **Prompts: 1. (AU) Squib, 3. (Word) sweet, 5. (Object) Galleon, 6. (Food) chocolate ice cream, 7. (Dialogue) "What are you implying?", 10. (Emotion) lonely  
Words: 1099**

 **Thanks to Kage for betaing!**

Percy narrowed his eyes as someone bumped into him. It was very crowded at the entrance to the stadium. He couldn't blame the people, but he could certainly complain about them: loud, dirty, brash… he liked Quidditch just fine, it was the fans he hated.

Yet another spectator jostled him, walking away without an apology. If Percy hadn't been expecting exactly that, he would have been very angry. He was displeased, yes, but tact wasn't the first thing he expected from sports fans.

Percy squared his shoulders and marched into the Quidditch Stadium, trying to look just as brash as everyone else. It worked, and soon he was sitting down in one of the most expensive seats. He got out his quill and parchment and prepared for the game.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Look here, look here!" the commentator shouted; the crowd momentarily silenced. "Puddlemere United comes onto the field—they've got new Firebolts, folks! Still the fastest racing broom even after its release five years ago, the Firebolt is a favorite amongst players everywhere… led by Captain Amos Oglethorpe, in their customary navy blue!"

Percy watched the team fly out. One by one, the Captain, the Seeker, the Beaters, the Chasers… and the Keeper, the only reason he was at the game.

"You all know them, they need no introduction!" the commentator continued as the crowd cheered. "But put your hands together for the new Puddlemere Keeper! A Reserve before today, Oliver Wood is playing his first real game in a full year!"

The player in question flew out after the rest of the team. He filled out the uniform well, all broad shoulders and muscular chest, and large smile—and Percy was definitely staring.

But he wasn't just staring because Oliver Wood had a captivating smile and was good on a broom. He was staring because Wood was a Squib.

Wood's broom wasn't showing any sign of being about to throw him off, though, and he'd been allowed to play! _That_ was why Percy was there, sent by the Ministry to find out exactly what the man's secret was.

There was no secret. Wood played impeccably.

Percy barely managed to take notes, the match was over so quickly, with Puddlemere catching the Snitch after just ten minutes.

"Incredible," Percy said quietly to himself amidst the Puddlemere fans' cheers. "Absolutely incredible."

Wood had saved all eight goals that the opposing team had attempted, without looking the slightest bit uncomfortable. Percy shoved his quill and parchment in his pocket and began trying to make his way out of the stands to catch Wood and ask him some questions.

"Excuse me!" Percy shouted eventually, shoving two people out of the way; he'd been trying to get down the stairs for the past ten minutes, but to no avail. At this rate, he'd never catch Wood. "Move, please!"

"Shut up, boy!" a burly wizard in front of him growled.

"Excuse me, I am—"

"We're all waiting, dear," said a small witch. "Just five more minutes, they'll dissipate soon."

Percy scowled, but he knew a losing battle when he saw it. Still, no one moved even after another seven minutes, so he huffed, put his hand in his pocket and gripped his quill and parchment, thought of the gate outside the Stadium, and Disapparated.

Percy landed on the street, just about to catch his balance, when he felt himself falling. Then being caught.

"You alright?" a man asked.

"Yeah." Percy extricated himself from the man's grasp and looked up. "Oh! Thank you, Mr. Wood."

"'Mr. Wood'," the Quidditch player laughed. "'Oliver', please."

"Percy," he returned. "Thank you. I—uh… I saw the match! Just now. I wanted to say… you played really well, Oliver. Those were spectacular saves."

"Thanks."

"And…" Percy felt his ears reddening. It probably wasn't tactful, but it was his job. "And you're a Squib, is that correct?"

Oliver's easy smile slid off his face. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing."

"What are you trying to say, then? That's not the first time I've heard that…" Oliver's brows were furrowed, though Percy couldn't tell if in anger or confusion. "Though I can't tell if you're insulting me…"

"I'm not!" Percy cried. "I… well, I was commenting, I suppose. I came to the match to talk to you, I'm from the Ministry. They—well, _we_ —were curious about—"

"My ability to fly? Well, I can assure you that I'm completely legitimate. Not a single magical gene in my body, but full passion and dedication to the game. I'm just lucky the Firebolt's sensitive enough to sense it!"

"Evidently," Percy agreed. "I… well, I've got some questions to asks you, officially. Unless—you must have somewhere to go with the rest of the team, don't you?"

Oliver's face fell, the smile that had been breaking out again suddenly disappearing completely. "No, they're… we're not going anywhere."

Percy watched as he tried to look happy again, but it was obvious what had happened: Oliver hadn't been invited out with the others. _It must be lonely,_ Percy thought. _Being so lonely so as to be excluded._ But he completely understood Oliver's feeling, having never had close friends himself. "That's hardly nice of them."

"Doesn't matter."

"Well, we can go over to the café just there." Percy pointed. "Unless you've got something else to do?"

Oliver shook his head.

"Like I said, I've questions, for the—for the official Ministry report, but… they do a full meal for a Galleon, and a really good chocolate ice-cream for desert. Rich, not too sweet… Do you… do you like chocolate ice-cream?"

"Yeah, I do. But…" Oliver looked down. "Haven't got a Galleon. Even if I'd like to go with you—to answer the questions, I mean—I wouldn't be able to pay."

"Oh, never mind that!" Percy abandoned the quill and parchment and took his hand out of his pocket; he had a good enough memory to remember Oliver's answers, and he hoped that it wouldn't just be business meeting. "I can pay."

"I couldn't possibly—"

"Only if you want to." Percy smiled in what he hoped was a supportive and inviting manner. "Consider it a congratulations for your win."

Oliver shook his head, looking incredulous, but the smile was back on his face. "Well, since you're being so insistent, how can I refuse?"

"Let's go, then." Percy grinned as they began walking, side by side, to the cafe, hoping that they were going to talk about more than just Quidditch—and that it went well enough for them to meet again.


End file.
